


In Memoriam

by MrNinjaPineapple



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Brutal action, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Like... a lot of raiders die, Raiders die, Revenge, They die horribly too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 06:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20578157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrNinjaPineapple/pseuds/MrNinjaPineapple
Summary: As a young raider arrives back in camp with loot from the Commonwealth, a question is asked. Why shouldn't you piss off a man with nothing to lose? Let's find out.





	In Memoriam

The raiders whoop and cheer as their comrades return from the Commonwealth, bags of loot lugged over shoulders and dragging in the mud behind them.

They quickly form a large circle, each raider dumping their haul in the middle before showing off the best spoils.

The first brandishes a wedding dress, torn and caked with blood and dirt in equal measure.

The second holds up a child’s shoes.

The grisly show goes on in this fashion for a time, the raiders’ cheers growing with each exhibition. They eventually reach fever pitch when the next raider in line – a young man with a cocky grin permanently etched onto his face – steps into the circle.

As he dumps his bag into the middle, he holds up various items, each one stirring the crowd around him.

Reaching into his pile, he pulls out a red leather trench coat, covered in grime with the bottom hanging in tatters.

The raiders grow silent.

The young raider places the coat back onto the pile, confused by the reaction, and picks up another item – a pink skirt with dots – brandishing it to muted applause and quiet murmurs.

The leader of the camp hears the lull in festivities and barges his way through the crowd.

“Move, ya louts!” he growls, emerging at the edge of the circle. His eyes find the young raider. “You! The hell you do to shut everyone up?!”

The boy blanches under the older man’s gaze but retains his cocky grin.

“Forget them, boss, check out my haul,” he says proudly, jerking a thumb towards the pile. “You wouldn’t believe the luck we had today! I got this one bitch myself, right between the eyes, you shoulda seen it! She was going on about being some bigshot journo, said her husband was gonna come for her and-“

He stops as he sees the colour drain from the veteran raider’s face.

As the raider leader looks around to the pile of loot on the ground, his eyes widen and a soft whimper escapes his lips.

“Burn it! Now!” he cries, already moving to his tent. “And get ready to move, all of ya! We got-“

He is interrupted by a cry from the crowd followed by a wet, squelching thud. Turning, he sees a head roll into the middle of the camp, dark blood smearing bone-white skin.

He recognises it as the lookout.

“Defences! Now!”

His call of alarm rouses the raiders from their panic.

They scramble to their various positions around the camp, some climbing ladders to raised vantages while others hunker down behind thick sandbag walls.

Marcus watches them from the treeline outside the camp, hidden in deep shadow as he observes their panicked scurrying with a cool, unwavering gaze. He waits, unblinking, unmoving, as they send scouts out to check the treeline.

Moving slow and quiet, he dispatches them with ease, his knife spraying arterial arcs with each strike.

Three more heads land inside the camp.

He knows no more will leave the camp. He knows they will wait for as long as they have to.

But patience is what he was trained for. He could wait for hours for the perfect shot.

He would wait an eternity for this.

For her.

Each muffled bark from Reason hits its mark. A raider dead. Another wounded, crying out to lure his comrades.

They hunker down, leaving nothing exposed. Hidden behind cover, they shout out orders and curses at their unseen enemy.

He doesn’t hear them. He steels himself for the battle to come, strapping Reason to his back with the rifle sling and taking out his assault rifle in its place.

As he moves through the trees and crouches down behind the camp wall, a memory surfaces.

Piper and Nat in Diamond City, their laughter filling his ears. Their smiles, so bright, so warm.

His hand trembles for the briefest moment.

Letting go of Nora and Shaun had been difficult but necessary. He had wanted to let go, to create a new life to stop the pain.

But now, he offers himself to it, letting it fill him. He welcomes the pain and the rage and the guilt of two lifetimes, two worlds. He allows it to suffuse his body.

It leaves him cold. Empty.

Hollow.

He is ready.

Springing from cover, he takes the first two by surprise, their throats exploding in streaks of red as two short staccato bursts ring out. Calls of alarm sound from further in but Marcus swings around and catches another raider unaware, two shots to the chest silencing him quickly.

The others begin to converge on his position and the buzz of close gunfire forces him into cover. He can feel the thuds as each bullet hits the sandbags.

A glint in his peripheral vision makes him turn just in time to notice a raider atop the watchtower. Bullets pepper the sandbags and the ground just beside Marcus as he squeezes himself further behind the barricade.

As the barrage ends, he takes his chance and pops out of cover. He takes aim and fires three controlled bursts, one hitting the raider centre mass. As he moves back behind cover, Marcus hears the wet crunch of the man’s body falling from the parapet.

The raiders are skilled with their weapons to a point. They are familiar with fighting settlers and farmers, civilians with no training and simple weaponry.

Marcus, with his years of training and experience, modified weapons, and ballistic weave armour, is more than a match.

As if to prove his point, three foolhardy raiders attempt a clumsy rush at his position, running with lumbering strides, weapons sending hails of bullets in wide arcs.

Marcus peeks out of cover, offering only a sliver of a target, and concentrates.

Three more bursts.

Three more dead.

Back into cover.

No other raiders try to rush him.

The wind whistles through the camp as a dread silence descends, lingering for a long moment.

He hears footsteps, slow and deliberate, inching along the main building in the camp. He peeks out but sees nothing but faint glimpses of shadow. The footsteps stop suddenly and a clear voice rings out.

“You’re outnumbered here, ya bastard! You were a fool to come here!”

Marcus assumes it is the voice of the leader, gruff, abrasive, and laced with venom.

“You’ve killed a buncha my boys,” the voice continues. “I can’t let that slide! Come out now and I’ll make it quick!”

Marcus replies by taking a grenade from his belt, pulling the pin, and throwing it over the sandbags, in the direction of the main building.

He hears it land on the dirt, the panicked shouting of the raiders. And then…

The explosion rocks the camp, the sandbags vibrating behind Marcus and the screams of the injured punctuating the blast.

Taking the opportunity, he leaves cover and swings around the main building, effectively flanking the cluster of raiders which remain. He takes position behind a concrete wall and pokes his head out to survey the situation.

The raider leader is on the ground, screaming. His leg is a useless lump of wet flesh and bits of bone. Two raiders are close to him. Another raider lays not far from him, shrapnel peppering her lifeless body. Two more stand further away, keeping an eye on the sandbags Marcus occupied only moments before.

He takes his last grenade from his belt and throws it around the wall, watching it roll to a stop at the feet of the raider closest to the leader’s prone body before popping his head back behind the wall.

A scream begins but is cut off by the blast and Marcus once again feels the ground shake. Looking out from his vantage, he sees the two further raiders raise their weapons through the smoke. One of them spots him.

Marcus manages to get off a short burst, narrowly missing the pair, before ducking back.

Chips of concrete splinter away and large plumes of dust force Marcus to cover his face with his jacket. The gunfire continues and great chunks of stone fall away from the wall, exposing the rebar beneath.

As the firing subsides, Marcus makes his move, emptying the last few bullets of the magazine into one of the raiders. As he goes to reload, the other raider sees an opening and rushes him, knocking the rifle from his hands and bringing both men to the ground.

Marcus tries to bring Reason around but the large raider pins him down with his weight, the rifle sling trapping his signature sniper rifle beneath him.

A big fist rocks his jaw and he feels the world tip into darkness for a few brief moments. He reaches out blindly and finds the raider’s face, his fingers scrambling for purchase. His thumbs find the raider’s eyes but another punch forces him to block.

He manages to wriggle a leg free and kick out, catching the raider between the legs. As he howls in pain and rolls off, Marcus takes the chance to grab his head from behind. Within seconds, he has the raider in a chokehold, his arms desperately flailing out.

There is a still moment before he snaps the man’s head to one side, an audible crack accompanying the raider growing limp and dropping to the ground.

Marcus takes a few moments to catch his breath and regain his composure.

“Hey…” a voice from around the corner whispers loudly. “Did you get him? Is he dead?”

He turns the corner to find the young raider who presented Piper’s jacket laying on the ground a short distance away. His face pales as he spots Marcus.

He whimpers as he shuffles backwards, Marcus noticing the shrapnel lodged in his left leg.

The raider pulls out a pipe pistol and begins firing, the small calibre rounds bouncing harmlessly against Marcus’ armoured jacket.

Marcus begins to walk forward slowly, his eyes never leaving the raider’s face. Bullet after bullet hit his jacket, one even misses the jacket and buries itself in his leg.

He continues walking.

The raider’s hand is shaking now, each shot arcing wide and causing the panic to shake the pistol more.

A bullet skims the top of Marcus’ ear. He doesn’t flinch.

He just keeps moving forward, hatred in his eyes and a snarl on his lips.

The pipe pistol clicks uselessly. Empty clip.

Marcus brings Reason forward from the rifle sling and sends a round through the raider’s knee. The screams echo through the camp.

As he reaches the raider, the blood in his ears pounds so loud that he can’t hear the screams. He can’t hear the protests, the pleading, the begging. He can only see the terror etched on the raider’s face as his mouth moves frantically.

He brings the butt of Reason down against the raider’s jaw, feeling the sharp crack. He brings it down again and this time, hits the raider’s wrist as he holds up his hands to protect himself.

He hits him again. And again. And again. And again.

He doesn’t stop.

Not when Reason breaks in his hands.

Not when he switches weapons and his knife snaps.

Not when he is forced to use his fists.

Not when the sound of splintering bone switches to wet thumps to the muffled thud of packed earth.

He stops only when his arms become numb, black with bruises from the exertion, and he looks down to find nothing above the dead raider’s neck. Nothing but air and dirt and a crimson patch of earth.

He feels his strength leave his body as he falls to his hands and knees, desperately sucking in lungfuls of air. Gaining control of his breathing, he feels his wounds. He feels the pain all at once, overwhelming, but pushes it down.

His hand moves slowly, carefully, with agonising effort, down to his holster. It takes minutes to simply unbuckle the pistol but he does. Gripping the handle takes everything he has.

Marcus calmly raises his hand and places the barrel of the pistol beneath his chin as he stares out at the distant horizon.

The sun filters through the sparse clouds, offering golden bands to the purple sky. A remembrance of sunsets past fills his mind and he allows the flood of memories to come now. His eyes glisten as he sees the faces of everyone he has known. Everyone he has lost.

Nora.

Shaun.

Piper.

Nat.

Losing one life had been enough to break him, forcing him to carve out a new one in the Commonwealth. Losing another is too much for one man to bear.

A murder of crows caw their dissent as a single shot rings out across the landscape before fading away, losing itself to the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was just an angsty revenge idea before my muse decided it should be a full one shot XD so enjoy! 
> 
> Also big thanks to Ariejul for the great name suggestion and the Wombats for reading over it! :D


End file.
